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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27598711">Ring of Doubt</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticallyinept/pseuds/romanticallyinept'>romanticallyinept</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BDSM, Developing Relationship, Dom Dorian Pavus, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Perseverance, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Slow Burn, Sub Cullen Rutherford, Undefined Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:39:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,233</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27598711</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticallyinept/pseuds/romanticallyinept</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He purposefully doesn’t think about the uneasy friendship that’s been developing between them. Afternoons of chess, arguing over the war table, meals taken together when the Commander remembers that he’s human and needs to eat. In truth, Dorian only calls it <em>uneasy</em> because calling it a friendship without the qualifier feels like… like tempting fate. Dorian doesn’t have friends. Even now, outside of Tevinter and its politics, he has allies. Close allies, to be sure, but friendship brings feelings, and all feelings do is bring disappointment. That’s a lesson Dorian has learned time and time again. Besides, it would be ridiculous to imagine that a former templar could ever truly be <em>friends</em> with a mage. Especially a mage who specializes in breathing life back into the dead, a concentration that even other mages will shudder and whisper about.</p><hr/><p>Cullen doesn't want to be dependent on lyrium.</p><p>Dorian has some interesting methods to help him deal with withdrawal.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ring of Doubt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sleeplessness is Dorian’s old friend, though admittedly it’s been a while since he’s stooped to wandering the grounds, cradling a small flickering flame in his hand to ward off the nighttime chill. This late, there aren’t many people around to glare daggers at him for the flagrant use of magic, just a handful of guards up on the ramparts and the few that patrol inside, and they know better than to confront him. </p><p>The wind howls, and Dorian shivers. He hates the cold, the way it seems to creep into his bones and leave an everlasting chill. The fire in his hand is keeping his fingers from succumbing to frostbite, but it’s doing nothing for his nose or his cheeks or the bit of ankle his trousers reveal with every step he takes. The practical solution to that, of course, would be to return to his chambers and light a fire in the hearth, but the prospect of spending another night alone in that room, staring into the dancing flames while sleep eludes him, is enough to make him want to scream.</p><p>He doesn’t scream. He sighs instead, pulling his cloak in tighter around himself, and starts shuffling towards the tavern. He knows Bull’s Chargers frequent the establishment at all hours, and while they’re not the most conversationally invigorating, their company is better than spending the evening alone, wandering around until exhaustion overtakes him. </p><p>Movement in the corner of his eye has him turning his head, only to find that he’s not as alone as previously assumed. Cole acknowledges him with a glance, and then turns his face up to the sky, basking in the pale moonlight. Dorian’s not surprised, not really, but he still mutters a curse under his breath and straightens, trying to look less miserable than he is. Cole means well, but his mouth runs away with him, and Dorian has no desire for the spirit to start whispering in the inquisitor’s ear about how the mage can’t sleep. </p><p>“Cole,” Dorian says, and his voice is tired even to his own ears. “Is there something I can help you with?”</p><p>The spirit hesitates. “A desire,” he says, and then frowns, shaking his head. “No, that’s not right. Not a desire. A need, so deep, it <em>burns</em>… it would burn to satisfy too, a different pain. More bearable, for a time, but worse after. But no end in sight, just pain, just <em>need</em>, that’s it. Forever, despair. <em>Oh.</em>”</p><p>“Fasta vass,” Dorian mutters, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Cole’s words are <em>concerning</em>, but Dorian is selfish. And cold. The last thing he wants to do is go digging into some inquisition soldier’s personal life, just because Cole never learned not to pry. “Who are you spying on now?”</p><p>The spirit doesn’t say anything, but the flame in Dorian’s palm provides enough light for him to see Cole tilt his head back and look up towards the wall that surrounds Skyhold.</p><p>“That’s not…” Dorian begins, intending to say <em>that’s not helpful</em>, but the rest of the sentence dies on his tongue as Cole lifts one pale hand and points, and no amount of darkness can hide the fact that he’s pointing up at Cullen’s office.</p><p>“Pain is a hard memory,” Cole says, almost idly. “Time tampers with it. Makes it stronger, makes it weaker... makes it different than it was, either way. How do you choose between a pain that’s familiar and a pain you’re not certain you even remember?”</p><p>“Thank you for the clear and concise answer,” Dorian mutters, but his eyes are fixed firmly on the single glowing window that demarcates the Commander’s office. If the man is truly feeling what Cole is describing, someone should check on him. Someone other than Dorian, because templars and mages and <em>vulnerability</em> don’t mix, and Dorian has no desire to start an altercation. </p><p>But the only other people awake at this hour are the guards, Cullen’s own men, and sending one of them to check on him would be an exercise in futility as well, and <em>that’s</em> assuming they would even go in the first place. </p><p>“Fine,” Dorian mutters, stamping his feet a little. “I’ll go. If the man tries to smite me out of annoyance, I am holding you accountable, Cole. Cole?”</p><p>The spirit is gone, and Dorian grumbles to himself again, even as he turns to climb the stairs up to the parapet. The guards on patrol shoot him odd glances, but he ignores them, letting his feet carry him towards Cullen’s office. Worst case scenario, he thinks, the former templar will turn him away, and Dorian will go to the tavern, as was his plan, and no one will be the worse for it. </p><p>He purposefully doesn’t think about the uneasy friendship that’s been developing between them. Afternoons of chess, arguing over the war table, meals taken together when the Commander remembers that he’s human and needs to eat. In truth, Dorian only calls it <em>uneasy</em> because calling it a friendship without the qualifier feels like… like tempting fate. Dorian doesn’t have friends. Even now, outside of Tevinter and its politics, he has allies. Close allies, to be sure, but friendship brings feelings, and all feelings do is bring disappointment. That’s a lesson Dorian has learned time and time again. Besides, it would be ridiculous to imagine that a former templar could ever truly be <em>friends</em> with a mage. Especially a mage who specializes in breathing life back into the dead, a concentration that even other mages will shudder and whisper about. </p><p>No, Dorian is under no illusions about his relationship with the Commander, but he likes it that way. Uncertainty is dangerous. Knowing where he stands can help prevent… misunderstandings. Misunderstandings that, for a pair like them, could very well prove fatal.</p><p>With that maudlin thought, Dorian knocks on Cullen’s door.</p><p>He waits for a moment, but there isn’t a response from the other side. There’s no scrape of furniture either, or a muffled voice telling him to go away, and that’s what’s disturbing, because the light is shining under the door and Dorian’s fairly certain that the Commander is home, but there’s no acknowledgement. Frowning, he reaches out, intending to jiggle the handle of the door to further make his presence known, but as soon as he pushes on it, the door swings open.</p><p>It all happens rather quickly, but Dorian is good at taking in small details in a relatively quick period of time. He sees Cullen sitting at his desk, his elbows propped up on the surface and his head in his heads, and he sees a box open in front of him. It’s familiar enough that Dorian recognizes it immediately, even as Cullen notices him and jerks to his feet, slamming the lid of the kit shut with more force than is entirely necessary. </p><p>Dorian can still feel the resonance from the lyrium inside the box. </p><p>“Maker’s breath,” Cullen gasps. “I didn’t hear you enter, I…” He shakes his head, once, firmly, and then rolls his shoulder back as if he’s steeling himself for an onslaught. “I wasn’t… this isn’t what it looks like.”</p><p>“Of course,” Dorian interrupts, pitching his voice to be calm, soothing. “Though, to be fair, someone would be hard-pressed to look in and see anything wrong with what you’re doing.”</p><p>Cullen winces, opens his mouth, and Dorian just shakes his head.</p><p>“I know,” he says. “You haven’t… partaken, let’s say, since we’ve been in Skyhold. Longer, perhaps? I can’t sense it on you, in any case.”</p><p>“I haven’t,” Cullen says. “In… in a long time. Since Kirkwall. I wanted to be <em>better<em> than that, and now, I…” He shakes his head, the gesture bitter. “It’s selfish, I know. I should be able to give as much of myself to the Inquisition as I did to the Chantry, but I <em>can’t</em>.”</em></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Terribly selfish,” Dorian agrees dryly. “How dare you take yourself into consideration in this monumental decision?”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Cullen nods despairingly, and Dorian sighs. “Sarcasm, my dear Commander, goes right over your head, doesn’t it?”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>The Ferelden looks up, blinking at Dorian, and for a moment the mage thinks he’s going to have to explain that, no, looking out for himself isn’t selfish, and no one would think so, but then Cullen’s shoulders just slump. He raises a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Why are you here, Pavus?”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Cole,” Dorian explains, waving a hand in the general direction of the courtyard, “was waxing lyrical about your current emotional state.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Cullen grimaces, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even bark out an order for Dorian to leave him be, so the mage doesn’t. He steps a little closer to the desk, and his keen eyes don’t miss the way Cullen starts to hunch over the kit in front of him, protectively, trying to shield it from view. There’s nothing to hide now, though. Cullen seems to realize this, and with a sigh, he leans back, reaching up to rub a hand over his eyes. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“The inquisitor knows,” the templar says. Dorian blinks, confused, but Cullen doesn’t see him. “She knows I am prepared to step down if need be. If this -” He gestures at the desk, at the kit, and grimaces. “-if this becomes too much.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Have you told anyone else?”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Cassandra.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Dorian tries to resist the urge to roll his eyes, <em>tries</em> being the imperative word. “Clever,” he says, dryly. “Telling the two busiest people in Skyhold. Do you not want anyone checking up on you, Commander? Holding you accountable?”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Cullen bristles. “The inquisitor is our leader,” he says, voice hard. “And Cassandra would replace me, should I find myself unable to fulfill the duties of this position. I told everyone who needed to know.” He straightens a little, setting his jaw. “Cassandra knows what to look for. Should I… fail, in my duties, she will see that any problems are handled.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Maker,” Dorian mutters. “I see you’ve done everything to prepare yourself to fail, then. What have you done to try to help yourself succeed?”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“There is no trying,” Cullen snaps. “Either I succeed, or I don’t. Failure requires preparations, failsafes, backup plans. Success warrants none of that, so no, I haven’t prepared myself to succeed. It isn’t necessary.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“But it could be helpful,” Dorian counters. He gestures at the kit. “Here you are, tempting yourself every waking moment of the day. Why would you…” He pauses, sighing, because he suspects he knows the answer to what he’s about to ask, and he doesn’t like it. “Why would you put yourself through this? If you don’t want it any longer, get rid of it.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Dorian shifts, and, hesitating for only a moment, steps closer to the desk and reaches for the kit.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“I won’t destroy it,” he says, mostly to quell the panic that’s rising in Cullen’s tired eyes. “But there’s no need for you to stare at it and berate yourself over wanting it. Your suffering will not make your sacrifice any more noble, Commander. I can keep it safe, out of sight. If you find you truly need it, you can come ask me.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“I won’t need it,” Cullen says sharply, and his gaze goes wary, uncertain. “I <em>don’t</em> need it.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Dorian nods. “Then where the lyrium is shouldn’t matter, yes?”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Cullen grits his teeth - the thought clearly makes him uncomfortable, but after a long, tense moment, his shoulders relax. He nods, slowly, and then pushes the kit away from himself, towards Dorian. The mage tactfully doesn’t comment on the way that Cullen’s hands seem to shake as he releases the box, on the way his pallor seems to deepen the farther away it gets from him. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Dorian moves to take the kit, but as his hand settles on it, Cullen abruptly reaches over, covering the mage’s hand with his own. Dorian starts, sharply. People avoid touching him at all costs, and templars tend to avoid even looking at him - the skin on skin contact from anyone save the inquisitor is unusual, strange, would be threatening if it wasn’t for the tired, lost look in Cullen’s eyes. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Thank you,” the man says quietly. “I - I know I haven’t said this, not in as many words, but I do value our friendship, Dorian. You’re a good man, and I’m in your debt for this act of kindness.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>It’s all very solemn and serious and Dorian hates it. “Nonsense,” he says gently, carefully sliding the kit (and his hand) out from under Cullen’s grip. “Friends don’t tally debts.” He pauses for a moment, considering, wondering how vulnerable he wants to make himself, how much he wants to reveal, before deciding that the scales are definitely tipped in Cullen’s direction, so a little honesty won’t hurt. “I know you won’t talk with your soldiers about this, and I also know you won’t go to the inquisitor for anything less than an emergency. So if you want to talk, I have been told I’m a good listener, especially over a game of chess. I also know the effects withdrawal can have on the body, and they’re not pleasant. Sometimes, just being able to complain about something makes it better.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>He flashes a smile, tucking the box under his arm. “Goodnight, Commander. Sleep well.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Cullen smiles back tiredly, mumbling a “Good night,” under his breath, and Dorian takes his leave.</em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No, I haven't learned my lesson about posting WIPs, in case you were wondering.</p><p>I'm working on Dangerous Boys and Shooting Stars, AND my Kinktober fills, but I've been wanting to write this fic forever and it just bled out of me tonight so here's the first chapter.</p><p>I haven't actively played this game in a year or two so please help me out with tags if I'm missing anything important.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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